Catfish: The TV Show - John and William
by jonghyundroppedthesoap
Summary: John started texting William when he was in Afghanistan, and after a year, thinks he wants to pursue something deeper. This would be fine if the circumstances were any different. Only problem is, John and William have never met, video chatted, or even called. And William doesn't plan to. Enter Nev and Max. Is William all who he claims to be? Or has John been catfished?


The camera jostled noisily before coming to a focus on Nev's face. He sat propped behind a computer screen, smiling widely into the camera's lens.

"What've we got today, Nev? Anything juicy?"

Nev's eyes flicked back to the screen and roamed it carefully, using the mouse to scroll down his extensive list of emails. "Got one here… Subject line is, 'Help me before it's too late', from John Watson." He cleared his throat.

 _"Hello, Nev.  
It was quite difficult for me to gather the courage to send this email, but I've been becoming antsier as the days go by. My name is John, I'm a 30 year old man from London, and I've been a closeted bisexual my whole life. One year ago, whilst serving as captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, I met William on an anonymous online chat room. He's brilliant - certainly the most beautiful and intelligent person I've ever had the pleasure of talking to. But there's one serious problem. Despite me returning to London after being invalided home, William refuses to meet, video chat, or even call on the phone. I'm afraid to acknowledge that everything is a lie because I fear I've already fallen too deep. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated."_

Nev looked up and gave Max a look. "Not even a phone call? That's seriously odd..."

"Yeah, but John seems to be really into this guy nonetheless. They're not together or anything yet, it seems like, but John wants to make sure everything's legit before he pursues something deeper. Should we give him a video call?"

"Of course, here we go."

Max came to stand besides Nev so he could capture the screen. Skype began to ring, awaiting John's response. A few seconds passed before the call was finally answered, a broad, blonde man seated on the other side of the screen. He smiled.

"Morning, lads."

"Hey, John. I'm Nev, and here next to me," Max shuffled into the frame, "is Max."

"Nice to meet you." John harboured a refreshing London accent, prompting Nev and Max to exchange a pleased glance.

"You too. So, you're currently living in London I presume, and were recently sent back home from military service?"

John fidgeted in his seat. "Yeah, I was serving in Afghanistan for the last three years but took a bullet to the shoulder around four months ago. So now I'm back in London."

"You don't look very happy about that." Nev noted.

"Just a little mundane for my liking. Not London itself, I love London, but with my injury," John gestured to a cane behind him, "it gets a little difficult."

"Of course, I completely understand. And then you've got William... tell us a little about him."

"Right, well, um... I started talking to Will around a year ago when I was still serving. We took down each other's numbers and just text now, because it's easier. Despite that, I... really like him. He's witty, intelligent, a bit of a drama queen. But—"

"You've never even seen him or heard him speak." finished Max.

John's ears went red, face blotchy on the pixelated screen. "Exactly."

"Since you guys only text, have you ever actually seen a picture of William?" Nev questioned, glancing at Max quickly. The situation already seemed fruitless, and he feared what else was to come.

"We sent each other a picture of ourselves for a contact photo, but that's about it."

Nev nodded slowly. "So _you_ haven't sent any other photos, either?"

John hummed. "We send photos often, just not of our face."

Eyes widening comically, Nev grinned devilishly. "Oh?"

John appeared confused for a few seconds before his mouth twisted in understanding. He barked out a laugh. "God, no, wait, that came out wrong. Nothing like that. Sometimes I just send photos if I'm on a walk, or at work. Things like that." Red had flooded John's face and he ran a hand through his hair nervously.

"All good, John, just teasing." laughed Nev, shifting to Max a subtle wink. "Well, you seem to have a pretty interesting case on your hands. How would you feel about Max and I coming to visit you in London?"

"Christ, all the way here? I mean, yeah, that would be great. If you're up for it."

"We're always up for a challenge." quipped Max, Nev nodding in agreement.

"We'll see you soon, okay, John?"

John nodded, exhaling heavily. "Yeah, see you, fellas."

Cameras followed Nev and Max as they made their way through airport security and onto their flight, a few cheeky shots capturing a snoring Nev as the plane drifted over the Atlantic.

London was a new experience entirely for the two men, as they'd previously never left the States for the show. Hiring a car proved too much of a hassle - especially to be driving on the opposite side of the road - so they hailed a cab to take them to their hotel room.

"A bit of a dump," commented Max with a laugh as they entered, running a hand over the chipping walls. "But central London is not cheap."

" _Catfish goes global._ We're certainly up for an adventure." commented Nev, collapsing onto the farthest bed.

Max pulled out his digital camera and the shot changed to a close up of Nev's face. The brunette chuckled and looked into the lens. "Could you imagine if William lived in the States and we had to go all the way back?"

"Don't you even dare suggest that." groaned Max, camera jostling as he sat onto his own bed.

"I'm drained. How about we sleep away the jet lag and go see our buddy John tomorrow?" suggested Nev.

"Sounds good to me."

Morning came, the MTV camera crew filming as Max and Nev prepared for the day ahead. The two hailed a cab once more, this time, with John's flat as the final destination. It was a small, dingy bedsit, door opening to reveal the same, blonde man as their video call. He leant reliantly on his cane, vacant hand clenching anxiously by his side as he welcomed the guests.

"Sorry about the squeeze." John apologised, scratching his head in embarrassment. "I'm sure you're used to pretty big places in America."

Nev shook his head. "No, no, it's fine. Good to have something different for a change. It's great to meet you, John. I'm Nev, and this here with the cam is Max."

John shook both their hands warmly, and gestured to a few seats by his desk where the two could take refuge. He moved to the countertop and prepared tea and biscuits, which Nev humorously labelled an authentic English experience. Once settled, Max prepared a larger camera to focus on Nev and John, settled comfortably with their tea as the conversation drifted naturally to the purpose of their visit – William.

"So, obviously we covered a little over our call a week ago, but tell us about the nature of your relationship with William. Would you say he's your boyfriend?"

John licked his lips. "No… No, not boyfriend. We haven't really discussed it explicitly, and William isn't that kind of person, honestly. The whole idea of 'flirting' just seems juvenile. But even though we do just text, I can't help but think there's _something_ there. Something that keeps pulling me back to him. He's interesting, brilliantly clever, arrogant, hilarious… Christ, listen to me, I sound like a school girl fawning over some petty crush."

"We've all been there, don't worry about it. Truthfully speaking, do you think William thinks the same of your relationship as you do?" Nev questioned.

"It's hard to tell. Often our conversations are work-related – they don't really reach a personal level – but he makes me feel important. Like he actually cares about what I say. And if you knew how mundane a person I actually was, and how self-centred William is, that's a high compliment. Makes me think that, yeah, there is something mutual between us."

Nev smiled widely as John described their relationship and could see the pure adoration flickering behind his gaze. The chances of William being who he claimed to be were miniscule, but he sincerely hoped that the results wouldn't hurt John as much as he feared. "Do you mind if we take a look at some of the messages?"

"Not at all. Um, here…" John handed his phone to Nev who positioned the screen before Max's camera. "Do you mind if you only show a few, though? William's quite a private person and I don't want him to be furious with me when – _if_ – we meet."

"Of course, yeah, man."

Nev scrolled through John's messages with an intent gaze, tilting the phone to the camera when anything piqued his interest.

"Wow, here's a fascinating one."

' _You're currently in Afghanistan despite having a secure career as a surgeon at Barts. That says you're brave and enjoy pursuing dangerous situations. You've been deployed but you're actively seeking someone to talk to online while you're away. So, no close friends or family back home. Or perhaps none of them know you're bisexual? Either way, strained relationship. So, a closeted man with difficult familiar relationships leaves for war even though his dream "was to always be a doctor", as you told me previously? You either joined the military because you were painstakingly bored, or, you felt the need to prove yourself to them. Which was it? – WH'_

"Shit, John. I know you told me he's interesting but… this is otherworldly. What does he do for work?"

John's face burned a proud crimson as he reread the message. "He's an, er, consulting detective."

"You don't seem very sure about that." commented Max from behind the camera.

John fidgeted in his chair. "Well, I believe him, of course. The amount of stuff he knows and the sorts of images he send support that, but… It's difficult to comprehend when you've never heard of such a thing."

"Right."

"Oh, here we go," commented Nev excitedly, eyes locked on the phone. "It's not exactly what I'd call flirting but John's right, there's definitely something here." The exchange of texts appears on the camera's screen.

' _That was… amazing. – JW'_

' _You really think so? – WH'_

' _Of course. Quite extraordinary. Brilliant, really. – JW'_

' _That's not what people normally say. – WH'_

' _What do people normally say? – JW'_

'" _Piss off." – WH'_

' _I guess I'm not like most people, then. – JW'_

' _No, definitely not. You're far more interesting. – WH'_

' _How would you know? We've never met. – JW'_

' _I don't need to have met you to know that you're an asset. – WH'_

'… _But meeting you definitely wouldn't harm that assumption. – WH'_

' _So you'd like to meet then? – JW'_

' _Not quite yet. I apologise. – WH'_

' _It's fine. – JW'_

' _I'm sorry. – WH'_

"The way you guys communicate is very refreshing. None of that, _'you're so hot babe can't wait to meet you, xoxo'_ , business." stated Nev. "And you have mentioned meeting up. Does this happen often?"

John nodded solemnly. "Pretty often, yeah. Whenever I suggest it he'll say he isn't ready yet, or he's too busy."

"Not ready yet? Do you think that could be nerves speaking?"

"William doesn't seem like the nervous type. The way he texts seems really self-confident."

Nev hummed. "But there is an entire screen separating you. You don't necessarily know what he's going to be like in person."

"I know. I just… feel like I know him so well already. I know it could all be a lie, but I don't want to acknowledge that. I don't wanna go down that hole." spoke John softly, running a hand over his face in stress.

Nev placed a comforting hand on John's shoulder. "I've been down this path and I know it sucks, but you just have to push through. It's better to know the truth now than to find out in two/three years' time. Does William not have any social media or a blog or anything that could help us figure out who he is?"

John shrugged helplessly. "Not that I know of. We only text and when I tried looking up his full name on the internet, there were tons of results but… none of them were him."

Nev smiled reassuringly. "That's fine. Just makes it a better challenge for Max and I. Before we head back to our hotel to try and dig up any more information on William, is there anything else you think could be useful for us to know? Friend names, locations, workplace, hobbies…"

John's hand had started to shake and he hurriedly placed his teacup on the desk before a mess was made. He clenched and unclenched his fist desperately by his side and breathed deeply through his nose. "He, um… Well, he's obviously a detective, like I said, but he doesn't work for anyone. He _has_ mentioned having a brother and he told me he recently moved in to a new flat. The landlady… her name is Mrs Hudson, I think. No idea of her first name, though. Uh, and he's also a chemist. I think he does experiments in mortuaries and things." John laughed awkwardly. "Now that I say it all out loud, he really does seem like the perfect serial killer candidate."

Max snorted loudly. "I'm sure it won't be quite that bad. But yeah, all that stuff is really helpful. Thanks heaps, John."

"Yeah," agreed Nev. "I reckon we'll head back our hotel room, do some extra research, and come visit tomorrow with what we find."

"Sounds good to me. It'll have to be after 4:00pm, though. I have an appointment with my therapist."

"All good. We'll see you then, John. Hopefully with some more information on William."

Max and Nev shook hands with John once more, thanked him for the tea, before departing the bedsit with their camera crew in tow.

This case exceeded the difficulty of any before it, but the Catfish crew weren't going to be giving up anytime soon. William seemed to be a very interesting bloke. Hopefully he was all who he claimed to be.

Back at their cramped hotel room, Nev let out a long sigh and slumped onto his bed. "We've got a tough one, Max."

"John seems like such a genuine guy, too. I don't want him to get hurt but… that's kind of the premise of this show."

"Hey!" scolded Nev with a laugh. "Not _everyone_ gets hurt. There are a few real ones."

"Yeah," drawled Max. "But I doubt the one with no calls or videos is going to be one of them."

Nev snorted. "Honestly, I'm a bit scared for John. He's seen one picture of William, which easily could have been taken from the internet, and when there are no phone calls it usually means it's either: someone they already know, or, someone of the opposite gender."

"But we do know that John is bisexual… do you reckon he would care if it was a woman?"

"I mean… physically, _no_. But John seems like a person who appreciates honesty. If it were a woman and they knew John was bisexual, why would they feel the need to talk to him as a man?"

Max hummed, nodding softly. "I suppose, yeah. Get your laptop out, let's see if we can get anything on this guy."

Nev moved to sit by their hotel room desk and opened his laptop, Max moving behind to video the screen. The camera crew stood at a distance, capturing their interactions. "We have his picture," began Nev, "so let's start with putting that in the search."

Nev dragged the photo of William, a man with sharp cheekbones and espresso brown curls, into Google search. The results returned empty.

"Okay… so that's kind of a relief. We know the guy most likely hasn't stolen the picture from anywhere, but hey, anything's possible." Nev clicked his tongue in thought. "Should we try his name, then? John said he didn't have any luck because of its commonality but it doesn't hurt to double check."

Max nodded in agreement, watching intently as Nev typed into the search bar: _William Holmes._

"There are millions of results. Have a look on Facebook instead."

Nev concurred and switched tabs. _William Holmes_ again had many results, but Nev and Max took a few minutes to sift through the names and try and find anyone who matched John's description.

"Nothing." Nev sighed, pulling at his hair slightly. "This is going to be even harder than I anticipated."

Max moved to sit beside Nev, still holding his camera before him. "Try looking up _Detective William Holmes_ or _Chemist William Holmes_ or something. To narrow it down on Google."

"Oh yeah, what was the name of the job that John said? Consultant…?"

"Consulting detective, I think. Sounds pretty uncommon, so if it _is_ a real job, the results will be easy to sort through."

Nev nodded, typing excitedly: _Consulting Detective._

The results, as they anticipated, were minimal, with many being off topic entirely. Max looked disappointed. "Do you think he's made the job up?"

But Nev's brain was elsewhere, scrolling through the results purposefully. "No… Wait, here we go. I think I have something, Max."

Max focused his lens on the screen. Specifically, on the description of the search result Nev seemed to be enticed by. It read:

' _The Science of Deduction_ __

 _"Jul 25, 2010 - The Science of Deduction. by Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. I'm Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. I'm not going to go into detail ..."'_

" _Sherlock_ Holmes? Who is Sherlock?" Nev wondered aloud. Max, in his excitement, reached over Nev to click on the link, camera fumbling slightly.

"Damn…" he mused, reading the homepage with fascination. "This certainly sounds like William. The way it's written, too. Listen to this: "This is what I do: One, I observe everything. Two, from what I observe, I deduce everything. Three, when I've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth."

Nev's face screwed in confusion. "What the heck does that even mean, though?"

"I don't really know, but it sounds kind of similar to the text we read of John's. The one where he 'deduced' that John went to the army to prove himself, or whatever." Max replied.

Nev sighed loudly. "But if this is William, why doesn't he just talk to John under the name Sherlock? What's the difference?"

"Well clearly, he doesn't want John to see this. Let's have a further look." Max gestured for Nev to click on the _Forum_ section.

The two exchanged a glance, excitement swimming in their eyes. Max zoomed in on one of the posts, Nev reading it aloud.

"' _Do not send post to my Montague Street address. Disagreement with landlord. No longer there. New address to follow. – SH'._ It's signed similarly to William's texts with John – just initials."

"Should we… contact the old landlord? Ask who Sherlock is, what he looks like, why he moved?"

"Maybe," Nev spoke, "There are a few names in these comments we might be able to contact, too. They seem to know this Sherlock guy. Look here. Someone named G. Lestrade writes, _"_ I've tried your mobile, your email and I've been round to your flat. There's been another one."

"Another what?" laughed Max.

"Murder?" proposed Nev. "But... this ties into our theory that this is William, too. John told us that William doesn't want to call, and Lestrade says that that he's tried Sherlock's mobile to no avail."

"It _does_ fit." Max nodded.

"I still don't understand why he would change his name, though. That clearly says he has something he wants to hide. But _what?_ "

The two sat in thought. "I think contacting the old landlord is the best decision. William doesn't seem the type of person to answer our questions as soon as we ring. And I don't want to risk him getting suspicious of us." Max spoke finally.

"Max, we work for MTV, not a criminal organisation."

Nev chuckled. "I know, I know. But this is different to other times. We're in a totally different continent and I don't want to risk anything. John's got himself caught up with an interesting man, that's all I can say."

"Okay, fair enough. So we're ringing the old landlord. Type up the address, I'm sure there will be a number too."

Nev did as told and upon finding the phone number, dialled it into his mobile phone. He looked at the cameras nervously as the phone rang. "What should I say?" he whispered to Max.

"Do landlords ask for references?" he answered back.

Nev shrugged helplessly. "I goddamn hope so."

The person on the other hand picked up and Nev put it on speaker. "Hello?" he spoke.

"Hi?" said the person on the other end. The obscured audio quality combined with the man's thick accent prompted Nev's face to twist with worry.

"Hi, my name is Nev. I'm uh… looking for a reference on a potential tenant of mine."

"Y'gotta name?"

Nev looked at Max hopefully. "Yeah, erm, Sherlock Holmes."

A laugh resembling a scoff sounded from the other end. "Piece of advice: stay away from that bloke."

Nev's eyes widened, looking at the camera crew in amusement. "Oh, did he give you a lot of issues?"

"You bet. Body parts in the fridge, violin in the middle of the night, drug busts every other week."

" _Drug_ busts?"

"That's all you took from that?" whispered Max loudly, rubbing a hand over his mouth in loss of words. Nev shot him a look that clearly read, 'shut up'.

"Yeah," came the response from the other end. "Pretty sure the freak was caught out a few times, too. Seemed to 'ave a whole meth lab set up in the kitchen when I kicked him out."

"Oh, shit…" Nev muttered. "Well, uh… thanks for the advice, man. It was real helpful."

"Not a problem."

They both hung up, and Nev was left staring at Max with wide eyes. "Did you hear that?"

Max stared back, mouth hanging open in an incredulous smile. "I mean…" he started. "I doubt this is what John had in mind when William said 'chemist.'"

Nev barked out a laugh. "So the secret he's keeping from John is that his name isn't William and he's a druggo?"

"I mean, if that's true, then fair enough. Being a drug addict isn't exactly a dude magnet."

"John could be a dealer for all we know. In that case, William's doing everything right." quipped Nev, laughing.

Max moved the camera to focus on Nev's face. "This is all so shady. What are we gonna tell John?"

"The truth, I suppose. But I still wanna dig up some more stuff. There's a lot on this website and I don't want to miss anything. Should we look up the new address? Text him ourselves?"

Max breathed deeply in contemplation. "I don't know why but… something about this whole scenario makes me a little scared to text him. I bet he'd be onto us in a second."

"Probably, yeah… Let's have a look at the new address then." Nev reopened Google and typed in the address displayed on the website's homepage. _221B Baker Street._ It took him to a digital White Pages. A few moments passed as Nev studied the results. His face brightened. "Max, I've got contact details for… Martha Hudson. _Martha Hudson_." he emphasized animatedly, excitement brewing. "John told us, 'I think the landlady's name is Mrs Hudson'. If this isn't William then... I really don't know. But I have a good feeling about this."

Max looked doubtful. "Nev, John has barely even seen a photo of this guy. Clearly he's a public figure. It would take, what? Three minutes to get all the information we just did and make a fake profile out if it. Maybe this person knows John personally, knows what he likes, and is trying to lure him. We don't know."

"So, basically…" Nev sighed. "William is either pretending to be like Sherlock Holmes to catch John's attention, or _is_ Sherlock Holmes and simply wants to hide his dark past."

"Well, that's just what I think. Could be a perfectly normal guy for all we know. But I guess we should go and inform John, right?"

"Right."

The next day began with Max and Nev returning to John's bedsit, the older man welcoming them with a handshake once again. The man was anxious – that much was obvious. His limp seemed to be worse today and he stuttered over some of his words. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink. Nev encouraged him to sit and relax rather than make them tea. Who knew what the news of their information would bring.

"So, John… Yesterday, Max and I did a bit of research on William after we left."

John's eyes brightened at this. "Oh? Find anything interesting?"

Nev exchanged a nervous glance with Max before reaching to get his laptop. "Yes, actually. It took us a while at first, but we eventually found a huge chunk of information."

Disbelief seemed to shroud John's expression, but a tinge of hope sparked in the quirking of his lips. He was excited.

"First, when we typed up _William Holmes_ , we got nothing. Just like you said, it's a really common name and none of the results seemed to match your description of William."

John nodded along and licked his lips anxiously, wondering where this was going.

"But then…" continued Nev. "We got to researching William's job: a consulting detective. There weren't many results, but one in particular caught our attention." Nev tilted his laptop towards John as he spoke. "A website by a man named _Sherlock_ Holmes. Everything on the site seems to match what you told us about William."

John, with a shaking hand, clicked on the link Nev gestured to, and began to read. "Yeah." He murmured. "This sounds like William, alright. But why would he lie about his name?"

"No idea." spoke Max. "Nev and I thought it might have been because he didn't want you to find anything like this. Maybe just a safety precaution – you are strangers, after all."

Lifting his eyes from the screen, John's gaze narrowed slightly at the expression on Nev's face. He breathed deeply through his nose. "There's something you aren't telling me. Something bad, am I right?"

"It's not… It's not terrible. So far, it seems like everything William has told you, other than his name, is true. But we managed to get a hold of William's, well, Sherlock's old landlord. You might know this, for all we know, but it came as a bit of a shock to us. Apparently he's, er, quite involved with drugs."

John stared at the two for a few moments before his buried his head into his hands.

"John?" spoke Max gently, zooming the camera slightly onto his face.

Nobody ever said that television was polite.

John took a few deep breaths before lifting his head. "It's a surprise, yeah, but I don't care about that shit. I don't care. If he's feeling upset or self-conscious…" John licked his lips awkwardly. "I just want him to know that I'd be there for him. William or Sherlock. It doesn't matter to me. It's just a name and it's just a bad habit. That doesn't change how I feel."

Nev smiled fondly, looking up into the camera with a knowing glance. "So," he started, lips curved in a smirk. "You'd like to meet him, then?"

John's head shot to Nev, lips pursing marginally before a wide smile broke out. "Oh God, yes."

It was an odd case. Usually Nev and Max would consult the catfisher on the phone _before_ going to meet them. This time, they were just going to show up. The two weren't really quite sure what influenced this decision. Whether it was because they felt Sherlock was dangerous, would see right through them, or wouldn't want to meet John at all, their minds had been made up nonetheless. Nev was starting to regret this decision as their cab reached 221B Baker Street however, and could feel the nerves stirring in his stomach. What if Sherlock was high? What if he wasn't who they expected? What if he wasn't even home?

But they were backed by the camera crew, John by their side, and they had a plan to stick to. They'd paid the cabbie extra so they could sit there for a while longer and gather their wits.

"So, John. How are you feeling?"

"Nervous as hell." John admitted with a light laugh. "I mean, he obviously didn't want to meet me for a reason. I feel like I'm invading his privacy or something, y'know?"

"Of course, yeah. Max and I were actually thinking... Maybe you should go ahead first and we'll trail behind. It's one thing to have someone you've been talking to online suddenly turn up at your home, but a whole camera crew? A bit much."

John bit his lip. "Right, yeah. No, that sounds good. Thanks, guys."

"Right, well. We can't sit here forever. You ready to go, John?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Alright, then."

The doors opened and John, Nev and Max emerged, followed by the MTV camera crew in the cab behind. John held his cane firmly and limped across the pavement, butterflies so strong he thought he might throw up. They reached the door to the flat, smooth and black with golden lettering. John took a few deep breaths through his nose. He was a soldier. He could handle anything. Even if William was a murderer. Even if William didn't want him.

Max and Nev waited patiently behind him, the former holding a camera in steady hands. A few more moments passed before John finally found the courage to knock. Three firm knocks followed by an eerie silence. John wanted to faint. He was horribly aware of the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door, and held his breath. The door opened and John started.

It was just an old woman.

He smiled kindly. "Hi… er, I'm John."

"Hello, dear. Looking for Sherlock?"

John's eyes widened. How on earth did she know? One glance behind him and he knew the others were thinking the same. And apparently, the woman had only just noticed the cameras. "Dear me, this a surprise." she laughed, dusting her hands against her apron. "Sherlock won't be happy with all the attention."

John bit his lip, afraid. "Sorry but… how did you know I was here for Wi— Sherlock?"

"Oh, he's had all sorts of clients these days. Are you from the papers?"

Reddening, John lowered his head. "Um, no, I… I think I might leave."

Nev and Max looked at each other in disbelief from behind him. "John?" he asked softly, placing a hand on John's shoulder.

John shook his head. "I can't… not with all these cameras. He'll hate me."

Max, for a moment, looked as though he was about to lower his camera. But then his gaze was diverted elsewhere, and it was all too late.

Because standing in the hallway now was none other than Sherlock himself. He looked almost as surprised as John. An uncomfortable silence enshrouded the whole space, with Sherlock and John staring at one another as the others loitered awkwardly in the background. John had choked up, speechless, and Sherlock's expression was indecipherable. Everyone's silent breaths could be heard amongst the nothingness, even Mrs Hudson standing still in confusion.

It was Sherlock who spoke first.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

John blinked. "Sorry?"

"That's the whole of it. If you're… confused."

John stood, knees weak, staring at the other man with wide eyes. His deep voice exceeded what John had anticipated, a smooth, warm baritone which filled John's chest with warmth. And then John was smiling. Because that was the first time he'd heard Sherlock speak. And it was so, very, him. He took in the detective's whole face: the sharp cheekbones, the pale skin, and the thin lithe frame it rested upon. He was beautiful. John chuckled, looking away with red cheeks. He took a step forward, looking up at Sherlock bravely.

"John Hamish Watson."

"I know." replied Sherlock quickly. He was smiling.

"I'm sorry…" John murmured awkwardly, gesturing half-heartedly behind him. "For all this. I was just—"

"Impatient?" Sherlock interrupted.

John flushed red before Sherlock spoke again.

"Me too." he continued. "I'm sorry for not meeting sooner. I wasn't in a good place."

John glanced him over again, and thought back to the drugs. He gestured to his cane. "Me neither."

Sherlock's eyes drifted to the cane, and then to John's leg, and then to his shoulder. John could see his brain working quickly, attempting to deduce everything he saw. John bit his lip, an effort to subdue a forming grin. Sherlock looked at him with wide, sparkling eyes.

"Go on, then. What do you see, genius?" John asked fondly.

Sherlock's lips twitched.

"You've a limp in your right leg, hence the cane, but your therapist thinks it's psychosomatic – quite correctly I'm afraid. You see, your limp is quite bad when you walk, but when you're standing still, it's like you forget it's there. Likely the result of a traumatic experience – in this case, your military service in Afghanistan. To be more specific, you were shot in the… left shoulder, I presume, and due to the intermittent tremor in your dominant hand, are unable to continue practice as a surgeon. Something which I'm quite upset you didn't inform me of before."

John looked abashed. "I didn't want to seem helpless, I suppose."

"John Watson? Helpless? Preposterous."

Cameras completely forgotten, John smiled again. Mrs Hudson, unbeknownst to him, had disappeared entirely during their spectacle. Sherlock risked a glance over John's shoulder, before he began to speak once more.

"You badly wanted to meet me before you made any drastic decisions regarding our companionship, and, going by the rather alarming gang of cameramen behind you, sought the help of some external source. American, most likely, going by the MTV label on the equipment."

Narrowing his eyes in amusement, John snorted. "You know MTV? You?"

Sherlock scowled. "Oh, shut up."

John laughed. "You're exactly as I imagined you'd be."

"Oh?" Sherlock promoted, intrigued, though a glimpse of worry seemed to persist.

"Yep. Brilliant. Extraordinary. Arrogant. And infuriatingly attractive."

John wasn't quite sure what he expected saying something like that. But Sherlock lighting up like a Christmas tree and fumbling over his words definitely wasn't it.

"Well, um, that's's quite… thank you."

John beamed.

"I must inform you, however, that the crew behind you look as though they are about burst."

John's head whipped around, and could see that Sherlock was, like usual, quite right. A smile so wide it bordered disturbing donned Nev's face, Max had never appeared so invested, and even those behind them seemed to be bursting with comments to make.

Nev took a hesitant step forward. "Um, so, everything seems to be going really well so far. It's great to meet you William, er, Sherlock. I'm Nev, from an MTV show called _Catfish_." He reached out to shake Sherlock's hand and after a few moments consideration, Sherlock accepted the greeting.

"Pleasure." Nodded Sherlock, though it was clear to observe he was discomforted by the sudden introductions.

"Sorry to have put this on you all of a sudden. Our show focuses on online relationships and aims to help people, like you and John, to physically meet." Nev explained, gesturing to the cameras.

Sherlock seemed lost for a few moments, staring at the large crowd. "I gathered." he spoke eventually. "Would you, um… like to come upstairs? Might be a tight fit."

Nev nodded, pleased, and glanced back at Max who nodded enthusiastically. Nev looked back to Sherlock. "If that's alright with you? Some of the crew can stay with the car so it's less cramped."

The four of them, followed by one other cameraman and a crew member holding a microphone, made the trek upstairs. John leaned heavily on his cane, despite Sherlock's reassurances that 'he didn't need it', and looked positively nervous at the circumstances.

The flat itself was… fascinating. Books, trinkets, clothes, a laptop, and science equipment seemed to be strewn everywhere, Max's eyes lingering on the skull on the mantelpiece. Sherlock awkwardly tried to clear away some of the mess, making room for John to sit before remembering the others. "Uh, there is some room on the sofa, here." He gestured, picking up a pack of nicotine patches and throwing them unceremoniously onto a nearby desk.

Once everyone was settled, though the term 'settled' here is used loosely, Nev began to speak once more. "So, I know this is obviously a bit of a surprise. It was quite difficult to get in contact with you and we feared you might not want to meet John, hence the suddenness of it all. But, for John, as he's told us, this is a very important step he needs to take."

Sherlock simply nodded, hands steepled beneath his chin as his eyes dissected the men before him.

"Before, y'know, we continue with anything, Max and I would just like to—"

"Ask me a few questions?" interrupted Sherlock, a smug expression on his features. "To ensure I've been truthful, I imagine."

Nev and Max exchanged a look, before looking back to Sherlock with a startled smile on their faces. "Uh, yeah, actually. So, the first question, basically, is… why didn't you want to ever call John, or video chat? It seems strange, considering you _are_ who you claimed to be."

Sherlock stared. "That's quite dull. I thought you were going to ask about the drugs."

John sputtered, whilst Nev and Max seemed to be quite frightened by the fact that Sherlock knew they knew.

"How?" spoke John, and Max captured the immediate change in Sherlock's façade as he turned to face John. His face softened considerably, mouth quirking at the look of awe on John's face. Even his cheeks seemed to have reddened, but perhaps it was only a trick of the light.

Sherlock took a slight breath. "Well," he began. "It's obvious you all suspected me when you first showed up at the door. John, after you looked at my face, your eyes immediately went down to my hands, presumably to gauge if they were shaking. You're a medical man – you'd be able to tell within a few moments if you suspected I was high. Thankfully, for everyone, we both know I'm not."

John swallowed thickly. "Amazing."

Sherlock flushed red and faltered for a moment, staring at John with wide eyes. But the others were looking at him expectantly, and the show must go on. He turned to Nev and Max.

"And then there were you two. You're both an open book. An expression of distrust was already in place before the door even opened – one might go so far as to even call it fear. And while you were both intrigued, Nev, you hesitated on the stairs as though you suspected something illicit might be up here. Why would you think that if we had never met before? You had no reason to distrust me… unless, of course… you spoke to someone recently who had that impression. Well then, who do I know who seems to perceive me a junkie? Plenty, I suppose, but your reaction implied it was someone who had seen my flat in particular… That narrowed it down to only a few candidates and I'm certain you didn't ring my brother. My old landlord, then. Snarky bastard never did understand science."

John barked out a laugh and Sherlock shot him a mischievous smirk.

"My suspicions were only confirmed when we sat down. Max, you're not the trusting type – that much is easy to tell. But while it is usual for you to be startled by the skull and the experiments lying around, your gaze keeps flickering back to my kitchen. Yes, I've got quite a few beakers bubbling, but I can assure you that they are a simple concoction used to determine how quickly different soil types soften in wet conditions. A man's alibi depends upon it." He explained, as though it were obvious.

Upon the deafening silence which accompanied his deductions, Sherlock coughed awkwardly. "So…" he attempted. "To answer your questions – I am in fact clean."

Nev nodded slowly. "Right, yeah. Um, good for you, man. That's really great. I'm sorry – shit – that was just a little shocking."

Sherlock smiled, the sentiment only reaching his lips. "And I prefer to text."

It took everyone a while to figure out what he was referring to before they remembered. Of course. The first question they'd asked.

"Not even one phone call?" Max explored, eyebrows furrowed. He clearly wasn't convinced. And rightfully so, it appeared, as Sherlock's gaze flickered downward in avoidance.

"Sherlock?" John prompted gently. The two were seated across from each other on two differing armchairs, and the cameras were quick to pick up on the fact that their feet were touching across the distance.

Sherlock sniffed, purposely avoiding the persistent glare of the lenses. "I am in fact clean." He began slowly, fiddling with his hands. "But when we first started talking – when you were in Afghanistan – I was… far from it. It was a difficult time of my life. I often—" Sherlock paused. "I'm sorry. This is just quite difficult with everyone here."

Nev nodded understandingly. "Would you feel better if we left you and John alone to talk?"

"Perhaps, yes."

The crew shifted, all four of the MTV colleagues moving to escape downstairs. But Max wasn't the cameraman of _Catfish_ for no reason. He had skills of his own. Positioned in the gap of the door, he left the camera on an awkward angle to capture as much as possible before joining the rest downstairs. If Sherlock noticed, he remained silent.

The audio was fuzzy, but it was comprehensible.

"Sherlock…" John spoke softly. "You were in a tough place. I understand that."

Sherlock seemed to be more relaxed now. He sank further into his seat. "I hadn't realised you wanted to hear my voice so badly. I didn't assume it would make a difference."

John shook his head. "No… it doesn't make a difference. But, Sherlock. You are the most intriguing, fascinating and brilliant person I have ever spoken to. You can't blame me for wanting to make sure you were real. Not some fifty year old serial killer."

"Fifty? No. Serial killer? Eh..." Sherlock trailed, waving his hand casually as though it were a possibility.

John went silent, staring at Sherlock with a quirk in his brow and a stern pursing of the lips. It was difficult to discern whether the detective was joking or being starkly honest with John, the only clue being the sparkle of mischief which swam in Sherlock's eyes. After a few moments, Sherlock's stoic façade could not be maintained, and he snorted loudly before the two of them abruptly burst out chuckling.

"Not a serial killer, either, no." Sherlock spoke eventually, once sober. And then, like the transition from sunshine to rain, the mood shifted unexpectedly, Sherlock levelling a serious gaze in John's direction. "But I was a drug addict. I'm not going to try and dodge that anymore. When we first started talking, I'd relapsed for the fourth time. Cocaine, mostly. But morphine occasionally, when I could get my hands on it."

This was something Sherlock needed to get off his chest. John, despite their unlikely meeting on a chatroom, had become the most important person in his life. He was the person Sherlock thought about when excited, when disappointed, when bored. He respected John's opinion unlike any other. He was, after all, an intelligent and level man, with an understanding of people and communication that Sherlock would never be able to grasp.

"I was high approximately 90% of the time we were talking for that first two months. Living on the street, sometimes, when my landlords became tired. If we called, who knew what kind of… nonsense talk you'd be exposed to? I didn't want you to see me in that state. Even more distasteful and intolerable than usual. I was, quite frankly, nauseating. Could you imagine if we had met then? "Oh yeah, John, come visit me in the opium den. We can have a nice cuppa laced with ketamine while we sit on the bloodstained blanket known as my bed."" Sherlock mocked, clearly becoming more emotional the longer he talked.

He moved to continue, but was stopped in his tracks by a warm hand holding his own.

"Sherlock." whispered John. He gently ran his thumb over Sherlock's hand to gain his attention and smiled softly as their eyes met. "It's fine. It's _all_ fine. I don't care what you did, what you took, where you lived. None of that matters to me. None of it. You _saved_ me, Will." John's tone was fond, and Sherlock's eyes softened at his use of the nickname. Nobody else called him William. No one but John. "The conversations we had… your brilliance, your humour, your haughtiness… They saved me from things that I don't even like to acknowledge. We can brush aside the fact that we barely exchanged photos. We can brush aside the fact that we never talked and that we didn't know each other's full name. Because thanks to all this," John gestured downstairs, where the Catfish crew were most likely waiting with knuckle-biting anticipation, "I got to meet you in the end, anyway. And it was anything _but_ a disappointment."

In the cab, on their way back to John's bedsit, Nev looked at John with a wide, yet curious, grin upon his face. "So… you're looking awfully happy. How were things with Sherlock back there? We didn't need to intervene or anything, which is a first, so Max and I are feeling a little weird, to be honest."

John purposely avoided Nev's gaze, looking out the window with a smile etched onto his face. He nodded softly. "Good… quite extraordinary."

As he spoke, John's mobile binged with a text. Not wanting to seem rude, John's eyes flicked down inconspicuously to read the message, but it seemed his efforts to go unnoticed were futile. Max snorted loudly. "Are we interrupting something?" he questioned humorously.

John's head shot up in embarrassment. "No… not at all, sorry."

"Is there any desire to pursue something deeper with Sherlock? Do you think you'll be seeing him again?" Nev spoke this time, but it seemed that no one could hold John's attention for long. No one but _him_.

The camera caught the text on John's screen for a short moment.

' _221B Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.'_

' _If inconvenient, come anyway.'_

' _Could be dangerous. – SH'_

"Hmm?" John looked up, only now registering the questions Nev had asked. "…See him again?"

Two pairs of eyes stared at him with intrigue.

John grinned.

 _Two Months Later._

"Ready, Max?"

Max shifted in his chair, the camera bouncing with him. It focused again after several seconds, aiming at the computer screen before them. "Off we go."

Skype rang out, awaiting the answer of John who had sought their help two months prior. It picked up after three and a half rings. John's grinning face met them on the other side, swimming in a beige sweater and drinking a cup of tea. "Hey, Nev. Hey, Max."

"How's it going, John?" greeted Nev enthusiastically. "You're looking great, buddy."

It was true. Rather than the dull bedsit chairs they had been seated in, John seemed to be relaxing in a wide armchair, newspaper resting beside him. The atmosphere seemed warmer and John seemed infinitely happier.

"Thanks," John blushed. "It's going really well, actually."

Max spoke up. "Tell us what's happened since we last saw each other. You still in touch with Sherlock?"

"Well, actually…" John began. He was interrupted by a distant call in the background. John's face instantaneously burned rouge.

"—John! We need milk… and beans!"

In a comical fashion, Nev's eyes widened and he nudged Max roughly in his excitement. "John…" he trailed, a cheeky smile on his face. "Are you guys living together?"

"Yep. Me and the madman." John replied awkwardly, before motioning to Max and Nev to 'wait just a second.' It was easy to tell that secretly, John was quite elated by this development.

"Go get it yourself, Sherlock. I'm busy!"

"But, John—Oh." It seemed as though Sherlock had stumbled upon their skype call, his curly head poking into the frame. "Hello, again." He greeted, before simply walking off again.

Max was 97% sure he was wearing _just_ a sheet.

"When did this happen? Holy crap."

John took a sip of his tea. "Uh… about twelve hours after you guys left for the States again?"

Nev was stunned, speechless that things had worked out so well between them. Their show rarely produced genuine success, and Max knew that Nev was a closet romantic. His insides were likely jumping for joy.

In lieu of Nev's silence, Max took the liberty of taking control of the conversation. "And… in terms of romance? How have things progressed?"

Licking his lips nervously, the laptop on John's lap fidgeted. "Quite… well, I'd say. It's difficult sometimes, though, to know exactly what Sherlock's thinking."

"But you've..." Max trailed off, unable to phrase his question without making John even more uncomfortable. It seemed, however, that he didn't need to. Sherlock Holmes was a very blunt man, and apparently, had very keen ears.

"I think he's implying if we've had sexual relations, John."

John sputtered on his tea. "Sherlock!" he scolded. "I know that's what he's asking, but," his voice fell to a whisper. "This isn't usually something you talk about on television."

"Oh?" came Sherlock's response in the background. "And why ever not?"

John's face fell into his palms.

Nev and Max guffawed loudly on their end of the screen. It seemed that things were going smoothly for John and Sherlock, and for days following, Nev couldn't keep the smile off his face.

He might have even become a loyal follower of John's blog.

 _Sherlock and John have now been living together for four months._

 _They are in a happy relationship._

 _John helps Sherlock solve crimes around England._

 _His blog, which recounts their adventures, has become a global hit._

The screen fuzzes.

 _Catfish: The TV Show_

Hosted by  
 _ **Nev Schulman**_ _  
_Director of photography/co-host _  
_ _ **Max Joseph**_


End file.
